Misery Loves Company
by whynotitsfun
Summary: Lemons- pure fluffy, plot-less lemons. PWP for the Topsy-Turvy Challenge... I'd tell you more, but it'd spoil it. One-Shot...


**A/N: This is for the Topsy-Turvy Challenge. Lemons and Fluffy—PWP? And also, consider this a belated gift for Kimberlyhavey. **

_Mid-September… after the war…_

It was hot. It wasn't the dry, scorching heat of mid-summer that you got in the middle of the day. No, it was that sticky, humid, gross heat that lingered after the sun went down. It was that time of night where your body was convinced it should find relief, but Mother Nature instead threw you for a loop and the muggy air around you seemed to blanket your skin in sweat and life was miserable.

It was the middle of the night and Bass couldn't sleep. The fact that his bedroom was in the attic of Gene Porter's home was not helping conditions. He'd tossed and turned for hours, unable to get comfortable. Just when he'd started to drift off, he'd shift and find himself sticking to the sheets, which would only render him wide awake all over again.

It was as if the air outside his window hadn't been moving at all. He'd given up on it all together when he'd noticed the red needle on the thermometer that hung on his wall was still at ninety degrees. With an exaggerated sigh, he went over to the open window. As he looked down on the gable underneath it, his sleep-deprived brain noticed something—the slope of the roof wasn't as steep as he'd have expected.

Curious, he took out the screen that separated him from the outside world. Hanging halfway out the window with his ass on the sill, he looked up. _That doesn't look so far,_ he thought to himself. He noticed that there was actually a breeze up there too. It was slight, but it was there and a small breeze was an infinite improvement over none at all.

Before he had a chance to overthink the wisdom (or lack thereof) of his actions, he grabbed the bottle of whiskey he'd swiped from the pantry earlier (and hadn't yet cracked due to the heat—drunk and hot felt a lot worse than sober and hot). After several minutes and almost slipping off twice, he found himself on the roof of the home.

Bass stretched out on the roof, letting out an exaggerated sigh of contentment. He threw an arm behind his head to use as a pillow and gazed up at the stars, taking an occasional pull from the bottle. The breeze brought an instant relief, drying the dampness from his skin and it allowed him to get comfortable for the first time in days. No matter that the shingles scraped his bare back—at least he wasn't sticking to it.

He lost track of how long he'd been up there. It couldn't have been too long, because he was still halfway sober, however. He was lost in thought, considering all of the places he could be in that moment that wouldn't have been so god-awful hot, when suddenly a face appeared out of nowhere.

"Watcha doin'?" Charlie asked brightly.

She damn near startled him into falling right off the roof. "Shit! Don't do that," Bass griped. "What are you doing up here?"

"Says the guy that's already on the roof," she scoffed. She climbed the rest of the way up. When she almost slipped he leaned forward and offered her a hand to help her up. She accepted and within a few moments was stretched out next to him. "I was hot and couldn't sleep, so I went to your room to steal the whiskey back—not nice, by the way. You weren't there, and I saw the screen. Go figure, I found you and the booze up here," she explained.

She reached over and grabbed the bottle. If he was going to sit up here and get shitty, he could damn well share. After all, it was technically her grandfather's bottle at any rate. That made it more hers than his. "Wow, it's a lot better up here," she added as she raised the bottle to her lips.

They spent a good two hours or so just trading the whiskey back and forth and making small talk. Bass pointed out a few random constellations and Charlie complained about her mother. Rachel and Miles had claimed the basement for the night, which other than the roof was the coolest place in the house. That left the rest of them to sweat through the night miserably.

As the night wore on, Bass became very aware of Charlie's proximity—and her sleeping attire. The girl was barely clothed—just a thin tank top and a pair of cloth shorts that barely fit the definition of the word. In fact, in the moonlight above, he swore he could almost see through that damn tank top. _No you can't, so stop looking… Or at least, stop being so damn obvious about it…_

Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was just her, but he was having trouble ignoring the fact that her him was a mere inches from his. It was, of course a figment of his imagination, but he could practically feel the heat radiating off of her and seeping into him, rendering him hot all over again—in a not quite so unpleasant way.

And then, it happened. One minute he was rambling on about some random topic (later, he wouldn't even remember what he'd been talking about) and the next, Charlie was looming over him, her mouth pressed to his. He froze for a second, not quite panicked. _Is this really happening? No, she's not... we're not… Damn… _He could feel her starting to pull away, so he set the bottle down and tentatively touched her hip—the one that had been torturing him just moments before.

That was all the permission Charlie needed. She dragged herself atop him completely. When Bass began to move his lips against hers, she licked his lower lip, her intent clear. With a groan, Bass opened and their tongues met. For the time, he was happy to let her lead them wherever she wanted to go. He knew it was a bad idea—they both were aware of it, but the booze allowed them to ignore that fact. They let it cloud their minds and propel them forward, whereas logic and sobriety had been holding them back.

Eventually, Bass broke the kiss off. Charlie started to protest, but then his lips found the column of her throat. With a gasp, she ran her fingers through the curls at the nape of her neck and allowed him to take over.

"We're on a roof," he murmured as he nipped at her earlobe.

Charlie bit her lower lip to keep her whimpers to herself. The feel of his teeth grazing her skin sent shivers down her spine. "You're point?" she panted.

"Just making sure you hadn't forgotten," he said with a grin. "You sure you want to do this?"

Charlie sat up abruptly, ignoring the fact that everything swam just for a second when she did so. "Why else do you think I was in your room in the middle of the night, dumbass?" she challenged. The expression of shock that earned her sent her into a fit of giggles.

That was not to be tolerated. With a growl, he yanked her back down and rolled atop of her. In doing so, he knocked over the half-empty bottle of whiskey. They both froze and winced at the noise. The world was in slow motion as they watched it roll towards the edge of the roof. It dropped, landing in to the gutter with another bang.

They looked at one another and started to laugh. The absurdity of where they were and what they were about to do hit them. _Fuck it_, Bass thought and he went for her mouth again. They spent a good deal of time, rolling back and forth and fighting for supremacy in a mock battle. They nipped and kissed and practically played.

Charlie was atop him once more and she let her hands begin to roam and explore. She smiled against his mouth at the way his muscles flexed beneath her touch as she slid her hand down his stomach. Curious fingers skimmed over the bulge in the flannel pants he'd thrown on before escaping out the window. The moan that escaped him the moment her hand reached that part of his body made her feel powerful.

Their position on the roof made the next part difficult. She rolled off of him and started to tug at his pants. Taking the hint, Bass did the honors. He was almost out of them completely when Charlie got a wicked gleam in her eye. She sat up and reached forward, yanking them off him the rest of the way. Before he even realized what she was up to, she balled them up and tossed them off the roof onto the ground below.

"Hey!" Bass exclaimed. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Charlie laughed drunkenly. "Shh! They'll year you! You wanna wake everyone up?" She admonished him with mock severity as the fit of giggles threatened to take over. She was laughing so hard she actually snorted, which only made it worse.

Fool that he was (and just as buzzed), Bass laughed right along with Charlie as he reached for her. _Two can play at this game,_ he thought. He yanked the front of her tank top up and started nuzzling her breasts. Distracted by the feel of his tongue lashing one nipple, Charlie raised her hips so he could work her shorts off with his free hand.

Bass had them off and then pulled away from her. Charlie opened her mouth to tell him not to stop when he arched a brow at her—and then tossed her shorts over his shoulder, sending them to join his pants. "Payback's a bitch, ain't it?" he laughed.

Charlie smacked him playfully—and then went to remove her panties. Bass knocked her hands out of the way and finished the job. "Don't you dare," she warned him when he threatened to send them off the roof.

Bass dangled them on one finger. He hadn't intended on doing it, but a sudden increase in the wind around them made the decision for him. "Oops," he grinned. "I swear that was an accident," he said, practically pleading for mercy.

"I'll get you back for that," Charlie threatened. They rolled again, and she was atop of him. They both continued to giggle like idiots as they went back to working one another up.

"Promise?" Bass asked. Deciding that enough was enough, he grabbed her hips and got her into position. When the tip of his erection found her entrance he pulled down as he thrust his hips up, entering her completely.

A roof was not the best place to have sex (and would probably top the list of most interesting places he'd done the deed), so with their drunken state the whole business was sloppy and awkward—and it was a complete turn-on.

To keep from sliding of the roof and breaking their necks, their motions were limited. Charlie was only able to stretch out on top of him and slide. "The things I'd do to you if I wasn't trying to keep us up here," Bass told her as he practically attacked her neck.

"Promises, Promises," Charlie moaned as she continued to move, taking him fully inside her and grinding down each time he helped her slide back down again.

Bass growled and flipped them over. He lifted her thigh with one hand to allow for deeper penetration and increased the pace. "Shh… They'll hear you," he mocked, repeating her words from earlier and crashing his mouth down on hers to smother the cries that escaped.

Charlie reached around and dug her nails into his ass, holding him deeper. "Just a bit more—there," she moaned. She quivered and quaked around him, her inner walls gripping and contracting as she let go. "Don't move."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Bass groaned. "God damn, I'm gonna-" Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that he hadn't gotten laid in a while, or maybe it was because he'd been thinking about doing this (at a lower altitude, of course) for a long time—especially in private. Either way, he lost it. Everything tightened and out of nowhere, his own climax hit him like a freight train. He shot himself inside, instinct taking over and sending his seed as deep as he could.

Instead of yelling at him or trying to push him off of her, Charlie dug her nails in deeper, cutting into the skin of his ass as she finished coming undone. She tipped her face up, offering her lips to him, which he captured greedily.

Slick with sweat and both hot once again, Bass rolled off of her. Drunk, sated and recognizing the absurdity of what they'd done together, their laughter bubbled up in their throats before ringing out in the night again. "Will you keep it down?" Bass said, as he laughed all the more.

Charlie sat up too abruptly. She whimpered as the sky above her began to spin a little. "Where's that whiskey?" She looked around and then remembered that it was in the gutter below them. "Damn. We lost it, didn't we?" She stretched back out next to Bass and closed her eyes, waiting for the dizzies to go away a little.

A little bit later, she ventured a glance at the man next to her. He was back in the position she'd found him in hours prior—his arm under his head and his eyes trained on the stars above him, only this time a look of complete contentment had settled on his features. "So, there's something I've gotta ask."

Bass turned his head to look at her. "What's that?" He steeled himself for what was to come. Would she ask what it meant? Would she drag something out of him that he wasn't quite ready to say aloud? Was it reciprocated? What would come of this?

"How the hell are we gonna get down?"

Bass blinked in confusion and then let out the breath he'd been holding, relieved. "I haven't the slightest," he failed at keeping a straight face. "I'm too fucked up to go anywhere."

_Miles sits on the front porch on a wicker chair with his flask. Rachel has kicked him out of the basement, claiming that he was snoring too much for her to enjoy the coolness of their sanctuary. The house is a damned oven and it's too miserable for him to find sleep. _

_ The sound of someone scampering up on the roof as he was trying to get back to sleep hasn't helped matters at all. He figures it's got to be Bass. His room in the attack gives him perfect access to it. He's trying to not be troubled by the fact that Charlie's door was open, as was the access to Bass' room._

_ Gene comes out—clearly in the same dire straits as the rest of the household (save Rachel… Damn her and the fact that she's a light sleeper). "Can't sleep either?" he asks as he sits down in the other chair. _

_ Miles shakes his head as he takes a drink. "Nope. I hate summer," he grumbles._

_ It's then that they hear the giggling from above. They see something fall off the roof. It lands on the porch railing. It takes a second for them to see that it's a pair of flannel pajama pants—and that they look awfully familiar. "Hey! What the hell did you do that for?" Bass' voice reaches their ears—he's slurring and can hear that he's trying his best to sound outraged._

_ A feminine voice giggles. "Shh! They'll year you! You wanna wake everyone up?" Charlie's voice drifts down in the loudest drunken whisper in the history of drunken whispers. They hear her snort—something she only does when she's laughing so hard she can barely breathe. _

_ A few moments later, another article of clothing comes sailing down. Bass' laugh reaches them. They can hear the voices, but not everything they are saying. "… swear that was an accident…" And then something else falls off the roof. Gene gets up and looks, and then he turns to Miles. If it wasn't so dark, the reddening of his face as he becomes outraged would be more obvious._

_ Two things are very obvious at this point: There are two very drunk idiots on the roof—and they are not wearing any pants. Gene sputters in anger. Miles just shrugs it off, which makes him ore angry. "You know what they're doing up there?" When all he gets is a nod in response, he tries again. "And you're not going to put a stop to it?"_

_ Miles' eyes flick upwards. He can hear them rolling around up there and they are laughing like the lunatics that he now suspects them to be. This is not something he wanted to hear—ever. In fact, he's trying his best not to picture what they're doing. He looks back at Gene. "Do you wanna go up on a roof right now to stop them? 'Cause I sure as hell don't. I can shoot him for this just as easily when he gets back down—tomorrow."_

_ With that, Miles gets up and goes back inside. "Where the hell are you going?" Gene asks._

_ Miles stops with his hand on the screen door. "I'm going to kick that basement door open—it's the only place I won't be able to hear this. If I were you, I'd just join me. There's enough room for three people down there—and another air mattress."_

_ With a tired sigh, Gene shakes his head and follows Miles inside. It takes some work, but they manage to get the door open without breaking it (or falling headlong down the stairs). Miles is right—they can't hear them from the comfort of the basement, and it's a good fifteen degrees cooler down there than it is in the house. Tomorrow will be soon enough to deal with his granddaughter and the buffoon she's for some reason decided to spend her night with._


End file.
